Dreams of the Future
by TKeiraLea
Summary: A series of vignettes from Jag Fel's POV revolving around the events of Dark Tide II: Ruin
1. The Dream

**DREAMS OF THE FUTURE**

_  
_Title:  Dreams of the Future_  
Author:  TKeiraLea__  
Timeframe:  NJO – specifically during Dark Tide II: Ruin_  
_Characters:  Jagged Fel, Jaina Solo, Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu_  
_Genre:  Romance, Drama, Action__  
Keywords:  Jaina, Jag__  
Notes:  First part of the Force Evolution Series_  
_Summary:  A series of vignettes, most from Jag's POV, revolving around the events of Dark Tide II: Ruin_

Author's notes:  Thanks to my beta, **ZaraRose**.  I am only playing in the Star Wars universe owned by George Lucas and with events imagined and penned by Michael Stackpole.  Some scenes are missing scenes; others play with the notion of trying to discern what was really going on in Jag's mind.  Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it._  
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_**THE DREAM**

_  
The swirling wind whipped snow flurries all around him, sometimes blinding him in a sheet of white. Other times he could just discern the outline of a figure in the distance. The figure was moving across the glacier, through the blizzard in a slow deliberate step. A violet light illuminated the hooded form from behind, moving back and forth in rhythm with the bearer's gait.   
  
He called out, fearing the person lost on the glacier. Most inhabitants of the planet knew better than to be out in such a storm. Nobody ever really came this far out of the city, this close to the estate. The figure stopped for a moment at the sound of his voice, but never turned to face him. Then the form resumed its march.   
  
He left the relative protection provided by the proximity to the main estate building to follow the misplaced traveler. His hunt was made all the more difficult from fighting through the drifts of snow, but he trudged forward, undaunted by the task. Some force was pulling him like a magnet, driving his feet faster and faster.   
  
He was close enough now to make out the tiny shape of a blue robe, the figure was somewhat smaller than he was. This puzzled him for almost every native was as big as, if not taller than, him. Possibly, it was a child. He called again, driven by a gnawing desire to protect this being's life.   
  
This time, the figure turned at the sound of his voice. Instead of the blue-skinned face of a child, there was a young woman with skin like his. There were so few humans on his adopted home planet that the sight was unexpected. He knew every female human in the city and surrounding parts, but did not recognize this face.   
  
The features held him captivated. Her skin was flawless. Brown hair cascaded out of the hood, capturing snowflakes in its tendrils. Those eyes beckoned him to fall into them and lose himself in a warm, comfortable place. He had known those eyes his whole life, and yet he had never met this mysterious beauty. Her eyes reflected the brilliant violet rays emanating from the sword of light grasped in her hand.   
  
Then she smiled, like she was greeting an old friend. Her hand came up; her fingers outstretched, beckoning for a touch. He reached out, his farthest finger hungering for the feel of her. Their fingers were so close he could almost feel the electricity spark between the two.   
  
In a cruel twist, the wind swirled heavier gusts. As he blinked away the piercing snow buffeting his eyes, he realized she was fading with the flurries. Pieces of her fluttered like colored snowflakes on the wind until she was just a ghost. He leaned forward against the blast of wind to grasp her, but his hand met cold air.   
  
Her lips moved then, calling to him. "Jag!" Her voice was carried away on the wind, and then she was gone, leaving only the blinding fury of the storm in her wake._   
  
Jag shot up in the bed. Sweat beaded down his bare chest. His lungs begged for air. It was not the first time in his life he had been assaulted by such a vivid dream. They came once a year, always at the same time. He never remembered their power until after he woke from the same cruel end. Every year she was a little older just like he was, growing more beautiful every time. Each chance meeting with a new human on Csilla, he hoped he might find a hint as to who she was, but his quest had so far been fruitless.   
  
A warm hand on his back startled him out of his reverie. Jag stiffened with the touch. He had forgotten Chantral was there, lying next to him in his bed.   
  
"Jag, is everything all right?"   
  
Jag rose and pulled on his flightsuit. He kept his back to her so she could not see the paths of the tears that had escaped his eyes during the dream.   
  
"I am fine. Just a dream. Go back to sleep."   
  
She sat up in the bed, covering her body with the sheet, but he refused to look at her. She was a pretty enough girl, the daughter of the highest-ranking human under his father's command. She was even a decent pilot.   
  
Jag knew he did not love her though; he had just never known how to make the break. It had all been too comfortable after Cherith's death. She had been his sister's friend, and he had found solace in her arms, but not love, just a patch over his aching heart. Now, it was time to move on.   
  
Jag put his parka on one arm at a time before picking up his pilot's bag to sling over his shoulder. He stepped into a darker corner of the room so she could not see his face as he turned to her. She spoke before he could.   
  
"Are you leaving?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"So this is goodbye." Disappointment riddled her voice.   
  
"Yes. I guess it is. You can stay here until later. I'll make sure they don't come to turn over the room until after you leave."   
  
"Thanks. Keep yourself safe out there in the Known Regions. I envy you getting to go there and meet other humans like us."   
  
Jag knew this was true. Chantral was so unlike him in that regard. She always wanted to go back to where her parents had escaped; she had never fully been comfortable here on Csilla living with the Chiss. He, on the other hand, was content living among these people; he embraced their ways like he was one of them. Jag could never imagine a life that was different. Only a sense of duty compelled him to take this mission, not some desire to return to the place of his heritage.   
  
"I hope you get your chance." He paused. "Goodbye, Chantral."   
  
"Goodbye, Jag." She held one hand up in a wave, but he was already turning to leave. She knew he was leaving her forever, and a tear trickled down her cheek. He had never given himself to her like she had to him. Now he would use this as a break and forever keep himself apart.   
  
The door slid open, letting a beam of light trickle into the room. Jag stepped into the light then the door shut behind him, once again immersing the room in darkness. He strode down the barracks hallway, leaving behind that part of his life like it was excess baggage. He would never again think of Chantral, she was part of an era of his life he did not wish to revisit under any circumstances.   
  
Jag was about to embark on a new adventure of his own. Maybe things would be different from now on; he felt a renewed sense of excitement, a hint of some new path he was about to discover. The door before him opened, letting in a frigid blast of air mixed with snow. Jag took a deep breath and pushed his way into the buffeting winds.   
  
The swirling wind whipped snow flurries all around him, sometimes blinding him in a sheet of white. Jag stopped in his tracks and stood quietly. The wind howled all around the surrounding buildings, singing a mournful song. He listened to it carefully. He could almost make out the voice from his dream calling to him in the storm's serenade.   
  
_"Jag."_   
  
He shook his head before readjusting the duffle bag over his shoulder. Lowering his head, Jag forged ahead into his future – the brown-eyed face haunting his thoughts.


	2. The Voice

This vignette here corresponds to Chapter 21 of Ruin. So here we go...

**THE VOICE**

  
"Spike Lead, you are clear to jump to point blood-niner."  The voice of the _Chimaera flight control officer boomed in his headset.  Jag adjusted his flight glove one last time on his right hand before switching his comm over to the squadron frequency.  
  
"All flights, prepare to jump on my mark.  Orders are to intercept Yuuzhan Vong fleet advancing on the New Republic forces.  Three, two, one, mark."   
  
The field of stars stretched out before him and then dissolved into the familiar swirling vortex of hyperspace.  The jump would be short; the Imperial Fleet had been waiting outside the Garqi system for two days.  The New Republic Forces had now shown themselves, just as Admiral Palleaon had predicted.   
  
Jag's clawcraft dropped from hyperspace near the embattled planet.  Before his eyes the New Republic Forces were holding off an overwhelming offensive from the Yuuzhan Vong fleet.  Spike Squadron had never flown against this new enemy before, but they had simmed for this scenario hundreds of times.  _Time to see how much we really know._   
  
A call came over the comm.  "This is New Republic vessel _Best Chance_.  Any and all help would be appreciated."   
  
Jag noted the small freighter amidst a sea of coral.  He tagged the ship as friendly before keying his comm.  "Spike Two Flight, cover __Best Chance back to the New Republic fleet."   
  
A double-click on the comm confirmed the orders as Shawnkyr Nuruodo, his second-in-command guided her flight group of four away from the rest, heading for the beleaguered vessel.  Jag could see a flurry of X-wings dogging the coralskippers earnestly.  He could make out the crest on one as it made an inhuman reversal to stay on the wing of its lead fighter.  It was the Rogue Squadron emblem, his father's old unit.  Jag smirked behind the anonymity of his helmet, basking in the knowledge that Spike Squadron would be rescuing the heroes of the Rebellion.   
  
The lead snubfighter laid down a trail of stutter fire across the skip in its sights, urging the vessel to veer away.  The trailing fighter, still faster from completing the crazy turnaround, came up under the lead craft and shot a full-force laser volley through the coralskip, which had weakened its shielding effect to compensate for the evasive maneuver.  Atmosphere vented from the skip in its dying throws.  _Nice shot,_ Jag thought to himself.  
  
"Spike One and Three Flights, engage enemy." Jag switched to the New Republic tactical frequency.  "Get clear, Rogues.  They are ours now.  Spike Lead out."   
  
Jag led his flight group straight into the thick of the battle.  His pilots were well-trained and followed his lead with ease, spinning and weaving in an intricate dance with the enemy fighters.  Green fire rained down on the unsuspecting Yuuzhan Vong, who had never come up against such a foe.  
  
Jag could make out the __Chimaera maneuvering with the __Ralroost to pin down a Yuuzhan Vong cruiser in a deadly volley of laser fire before twisting his fighter around its axis to avoid the molten fire shot out of a nearby skip.  The maneuver split his flight up into two pairs, each circling around to converge on a trio of skips.  As the outer two skips broke away from their pursuers, the clawcraft pairs blasted one and then the other to nothingness.   
  
"Rogue Leader to all Rogues, recall is ordered.  Back to the __'Roost.  We have achieved our objective and we're heading home."  Jag knew this to be the voice of Colonel Gavin Darklighter, who had flown with his father many years ago.  Jag had spent any free time studying up on the New Republic Forces, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses, learning who the key players were.   
  
All around skips were fleeing the coral graveyard, heading to the safety of the bigger transport ships.  Some of the clawcraft flights were still in pursuit, pounding the Yuuzhan Vong as they went.  Jag recognized the relative lack of gain from the effort.  
  
"Spike Lead to all flights.  Cease pursuit of enemy craft and escort New Republic fighters back to the safety of the Bothan cruiser __Ralroost."  
  
The clawcraft flight groups responded immediately, winding around floating chunks of burning coral in unison and picking up pairs of Rogue Squadron X-wings.  Each set of four clawcraft wrapped around the snubfighters like a protective hand.  Jag predicted the X-wing hot shots would not appreciate the gesture of being escorted in by Imperial fighters of any type.  He spoke on the New Republic frequency as he descended on the pair of X-wings he had observed earlier in the battle.   
  
"Don't worry Rogues, we have you now.  We'll get you home safely."   
  
His remark had the desired effect, a female voice crackled through the comm static, indignation tainting her voice.  "Who are you?"   
  
Jag was inwardly tickled with the result.  He would enjoy putting these Rebels in their place. He affected his most arrogant tone, practiced from years spent with his father. "We're simply the best combat pilots in the galaxy."  He paused.  _Nothing but the truth there_, he thought.  __Now time to rub in where we come from. "We are a Chiss House phalanx, on loan to the New Republic by my father, General Baron Soontir Fel."   
  
The female voice piped back.  "Did you here that, Twelve?  I guess we'll have to show them the error of their ways."  Something in the voice, free of static now, struck Jag right in the chest and sucked his breath away.  
  
Before he could gather his usual unwavering composure, another female voice responded.  "I'm sure it can be arranged, Eleven."  
  
"Twelve, I'm heading in; I'm tired of these babysitters."  
  
_That voice, what is it about that voice?_  
  
Jag was caught off-guard as the trailing snubfighter shot past her wingman.  She stood her fighter on its port S-foils, jerking the craft in an insane perpendicular cutback.  The move slipped her X-wing between his vessel and the second port clawcraft.  It was an impossibly tight fit; her S-foils passing close enough to cause the other Chiss pilot to pull back on his stick.  Jag did not flinch as she rolled around her axis within feet of his wings to turn back along the original line of flight.  The snubfighter accelerated as it went, flying solo at top speed toward the Bothan cruiser, where the other Rogue Squadron ships were already settling into the bay.  
  
As best, Jag knew the move should have been near impossible in that type of fighter, but the owner of that haunting voice had made it look easy.  A stern voice broke him out of his reverie.   
  
"Sticks, cut it out before you scare the Bothans out of their hides coming in at that speed.  There will be time enough later to prove Rogues are the best pilots in the galaxy."   
  
Then one last time he heard her speak as her X-wing decelerated rapidly by standing on its tail.  "Yes, sir, Rogue Lead.  Time enough indeed."  
  
Rogue Eleven disappeared into the safety of the __Ralroost's hangar bay, vanishing from his sight.  As he maneuvered his clawcraft away from the cruiser, Jag shivered from a cold chill running down his spine, cold as a snowy night on Csilla._


	3. The Face

This scene takes place directly before Chapter 24 in **Ruin**.  Jaina eludes to Ganner that they sim with the Chiss but never beat them. This is my take...

**THE FACE**

  
Jag leaned back in the simulator, catching his breath.  He used the silent darkness of the inactive machine to regain his focus.  Usually, he would be the first one out, waiting to escort the Chiss pilots off the _Ralroost_.  Today though was different.  Today was the day he would introduce himself to his uncle, his mother's brother.   
  
Wedge Antilles was an enigma to Jag.  A brilliant pilot like Jag's father, Wedge had chosen to fight for the Rebellion, even trying to kill Soontir Fel after he knew of the marriage to his sister.  Jag's father still harbored ill feelings for the man, but Jag had agreed for his mother's sake to give Wedge a chance.   
  
That was only part of what was bothering the Chiss commander.  He had not slept well since the battle at Garqi.  Every night his dreams were haunted by the voice that had filtered through his comm.  It was just as he had imagined it in his dreams on Csilla, calling his name.  He had tried rationalizing the absurdity of the notion to no avail.  How could he know a person's voice before ever meeting them?  But then, it had happened.  Or maybe it was just a coincidence.   
  
He had some inkling as to whom the voice belonged to.  The other Rogue pilots called her Sticks, but she still had no name or face.  He had flown against her several times in simulations.  He even could find her easily without the benefit of her fighter's markings.  She was one of the better pilots, possibly close to the best, and she flew with a flare that was unmistakable, characterized by aggressive unorthodox moves.   
  
Jag shook off the thoughts as an unnecessary exercise of his time as he released the canopy of the simulator.  He eased himself out and gathered his belongings in his pilot's bag before tossing it over his shoulder.  The room should have been empty by now; Jag had no desire to associate with the Rogue pilots.  _Better to keep them guessing.  It was all part of the head game pilots played with their foes.   
  
Jag made his way to the exit, but paused at the sound of two voices near the main simulation control terminal near the front of the room.  He stopped behind the last simulator in his row, staying well out of sight.   
  
"It will just take a second, Anni.  Hold on."  It was the voice from his dream. _Jag._   
  
"Why is this so important?  So what he shoots us all down," another female voice queried.  
  
"I don't know, it seems like he has it in for me personally," the voice responded.   
  
Jag's heart pounded in his ears.  
  
"Well, I don't think your smart remarks the other day did anything for Chiss relations.  He's probably just teaching you a lesson for that near miss."  
  
"I wasn't even close; I had feet in either direction."  
  
Jag eased over to the edge of the simulator, trying to catch a glimpse of the voice's owner.  Leaning over the terminal were two women dressed in the standard issue New Republic flightsuits.  The smaller one, standing no taller than five feet with a brown braid thrown across her shoulder, pointed her finger at the screen excitedly.  When she spoke, out came the captivating voice.  
  
"No, it's not me personally, but he always goes after the best pilot statistically and shoots us down in order, best to worst."   
  
"What does that say for me if I'm always near the bottom?"   
  
"No, you're not.  Look better than top half ninety percent of the time."   
  
"Okay, so you have your answer.  Can we go now?"   
  
The smaller pilot stood abruptly, her slight frame motionless, her eyelids half-closed.  Her profile presented itself from that position.  He could make out the uncompromised texture of her skin.  A whisper of brown hair floated by her ear, freed by the sudden movement.  Her features were refined, just as he had dreamt them, and she was so young.  Jag had started his stellar military career at around the same age, but it was hard to imagine such a petite youthful form capable of such deadly skill in a fighter.   
  
"There's someone here," she said.  
  
Her eyes snapped open, and Jag ducked behind the simulator.  He held his breath, but feared his pounding heart would betray him.  Even in the heat of battle his body had never disappointed him so.  Seconds before though, his brain had acknowledged what his body already told him - that this girl wore the face in the snowstorm.  It was deniable.  The only missing piece was the eyes; he had not looked into her eyes to know for sure.  
  
Footsteps sounded, echoing in his ears, coming closer and closer.  The other voice broke the rhythm.  
  
"Oh Jaina, stop freaking me out like that.  Why didn't you sense it earlier?"  
  
The footsteps stopped, and Jaina spoke.  "It's not something I keep turned on all the time."   
  
Just then the main door to the simulator room slid open, and several other voices filtered into the room mixed with their owners' footsteps.  Jag used the distraction to slip back along the bank of simulators.  He stole through the rear entrance and fell against the door as it shut.  Silently, he cursed himself for the foolish behavior while regaining control of his ragged breathing.  Moments later, Colonel Jagged Fel, once again in full command of his faculties, strode confidently down the hall._


	4. The Uncle

This takes place right before Chapter 24 as well.  It is the meeting between Jag and Wedge that we only hear about in passing when Jag and Jaina have their famous conversation – you know the one.  
  
I'd say this is Wedge's POV, not Jag's in this case   
  
  
Here goes...

**THE UNCLE**

  
Wedge Antilles had spent all day in meetings coordinating the joint operation of the Imperial Remnant and New Republic Forces. It had been an exhausting process, wrought with the typical political maneuverings he had come to despise. Life seemed so much easier in a cockpit. There, at least, the enemy was usually cut and dry.   
  
The last of the meetings ended and various members of Starfighter Command, Fleet Command and their Imperial counterparts filtered out of his office. At Wedge's request, Tycho Celchu was the only person left in the room. The door slid shut, leaving them alone.   
  
"So what did you think?"   
  
Tycho fell into one of the seats across from Wedge, who was seated at the desk. "I'd say that any help at this point is more than welcome, but with all the posturing it almost seems like more trouble than it's worth."   
  
Wedge leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his graying hair. "I'd have to agree. We just have such different ways of doing things."   
  
Just then the interoffice comm sounded. Wedge keyed the button. "Go ahead."   
  
The voice belonged to one of his aides. "Sir, there is a representative of the Chiss delegation waiting out here to see you. Would you have time to see him?"   
  
"I don't have any other appointments scheduled for today, but I need to get ready for the reception on the _Tafanda__Bay_. Ask him to come back tomorrow." Wedge shrugged at Tycho. "Right now I don't need some more Imperial posturing."   
  
After several moments, the aid replied. "Sir, he is quite insistent about seeing you today. He says you have a mutual acquaintance – a Miss Starflare."   
  
Wedge sat motionless, his mouth agape with disbelief. Seconds ticked past. Tycho was just as dumbstruck as his friend. Wynissa Starflare was the pseudonym Wedge's sister had used during her acting career. She had married Soontir Fel, an ace Imperial pilot and Wedge's mortal enemy, and fled with him, never to be heard from again.   
  
There had been a rumor that the Chiss commander had implied something about being on loan from General Soontir Fel, but Wedge had originally dismissed the rumor as nothing more than Imperial pilots playing mind games with the Rogues after questioning some of the Remnant officers. After twenty years, Wedge was beyond trying to get his hopes up again.   
  
"Sir, shall I send him away?"   
  
"No, send him in."   
  
Wedge ran his hand across his face as possibilities raced through his mind. Maybe Syal and Soontir had made it as far as Chiss space safely, but the Chiss had always been considered intolerant of humans. Perhaps this Chiss commander had brought a message from his sister. The scenarios were endless.   
  
Suddenly the door was sliding open and Wedge rose, preparing himself for the unsettling sight of a tall, blue-skinned humanoid with fiery eyes. To his surprise, a human male marched into the office and snapped to attention before offering an impressive bow. The young man, probably not more than twenty, returned to an upright stance, perfectly still, awaiting a response from the superior officer.   
  
Wedge studied the features of the man. The young officer bore the rank of colonel on his black uniform marked with red Corellian blood stripes. He was taller than Wedge with a wiry build. His ebony hair was cut short and interrupted by a shock of white hair, following a scar from his right eye. The eyes were what startled Wedge the most, green and piercing, like a reminder of the past. He knew those eyes.   
  
Tycho noted the man's unflappable patience as Wedge sized up his guest. There was not even a trace of movement from the junior officer. The control was remarkable. Wedge finally came to his senses after Tycho cleared his throat.   
  
"Oh, at ease colonel."   
  
The young officer split his legs and pulled his hands behind his back. His stance was no less rigid. The formality of his ways and strict imperious nature, combined with his looks, forced Tycho to mutter under his breath as a realization struck him.   
  
"Son of a Sith."   
  
Tycho realized Wedge had come to the same conclusion by the look on his face, but had, much to his credit, decided to play this one out. Wedge retreated behind his sabacc face before taking a seat. He motioned for the young colonel to do the same.   
  
"Please have a seat." The guest did as he was instructed. "So, we have a mutual acquaintance, I understand."   
  
Finally, the man spoke in the efficient manner of so many Imperial officers. "Yes, sir. My mother."   
  
_Nothing like cutting to the chase_, Wedge thought. He added, "Your mother would be Miss Starflare?"   
  
"Yes and no. Some people may have known her as that, but I believe you knew her better as Syal Antilles, your sister."   
  
Wedge remained behind his game face. "Oh, I see. And that would make your father, General Baron Soontir Fel."   
  
The young man puffed his chest with pride. "It would, sir."   
  
Wedge looked at Tycho and finally smiled. "So, I guess there was some truth to the Rogue's whisperings. And please forgo the sir – Uncle or Wedge or both will suffice"   
  
Tycho grinned back. "Figures old Soontir would send his son to rescue the Rogues. He's probably having a good laugh at our expense."   
  
"My father never laughs over such matters."   
  
Wedge and Tycho both chuckled. "That would be about right."   
  
Suddenly Wedge was out of his chair, rounding his desk. He stopped before his newfound nephew and held his arms open. Except from his mother, displays of affection were rare in the Fel household. Jag rose and awkwardly returned the gesture. Wedge pulled him into a firm embrace, patting his back.   
  
When he finally let go, Wedge held his nephew at arm's length. "So does my new nephew have a name?"   
  
"Jagged, or you can call me Jag."   
  
"Jagged, I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to meet you. This is Tycho Celchu. Tycho, my nephew Jag."   
  
Tycho tipped his head as Jag looked his way. "Good to meet you son. Glad to here your father made it; he had old Wedge worried for years."   
  
Jag faced his uncle. "You doubt that my father would keep your sister safe from harm?"   
  
Wedge took the seat beside Jag, and motioned for him to do the same. "Well, when you don't hear anything for over two decades you start to wonder."   
  
Tycho interrupted. "You know I have somewhere important to be. I'll just leave you two to catch up."   
  
Wedge nodded to Tycho. "See you in a bit."   
  
Jag stood to acknowledge Tycho's departure. "Colonel Celchu, it was a pleasure to meet you."   
  
"Same here, Jag. Say hi to the old man for me the next time you see him."   
  
Tycho exited the office and Jag returned to his seat.   
  
"As I was saying, it's been so long I began to have my doubts."   
  
Jag pondered the possibility of never hearing from his sister for that long and could see the man's point. He sought to reassure his uncle. "Mother is in excellent health, in body and spirit. Our family has prospered among the Chiss. They welcomed Father as one who embraces their ideology and beliefs." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a datacard. "Mother asked for me to pass this along if I had the chance to meet you. It has a message and pictures of my brothers and sisters."   
  
Wedge looked surprised as he accepted the datacard. "Brothers _and_ sisters. It sounds like Syal has been busy. Tell me about them."   
  
"Well, there is the youngest, Briaun. She is ten. Mother says she is a female version of me in every way, but prettier of course."   
  
The corner of Wedge's mouth curled up as he realized the young man had actually made a small joke. Talking about his family seemed to open up the young man's seemingly stoic personality to a whole new level. "If she has half the looks of your mother, I am sure she is."   
  
"Then there is Rane. He is thirteen. He has mother's hair and father's eyes, so you could say he is my opposite. I guess that's true in personality too. Rane is like Mother. He can talk to anyone about anything; he's quite the lady's man as Mother would say."   
  
Wedge almost thought he noted a twinge of envy as Jag described his younger brother. That thought was interrupted as a sullen appearance washed over Jag's face. The young man took a deep breath before continuing.   
  
"My older brother, Davin, and next youngest sister, Cherith, are both dead."   
  
Wedge's heart sunk with the admission. He placed a hand on Jag's arm. His nephew visibly stiffened under the gesture. Despite this fact, Wedge did not remove his hand. "How did they die?"   
  
Jag looked his uncle straight in the eye. "Serving the Chiss as pilots in my father's phalanx; they died honorable deaths."   
  
As far as Wedge was concerned, there was nothing honorable about death, no matter how it came. His brows furrowed. "I cannot express in words my sadness that I will never know them and for the pain you have endured, but believe me when I say that I will miss them like I had known them." He took his hand away.   
  
"Thank you. It has been hard these last few years for Mother. She dotes on Briaun, and that seems to help."   
  
"I couldn't imagine losing one of my children." Wedge cringed at the thought of outliving one of his daughters.   
  
"You have children as well."   
  
Wedge pointed at a holo on the desk. "Yes, that is my wife Iella and my two daughters Syal and Myri."   
  
"You named your daughter after Mother?"   
  
"Yes. Memories were all I had left and a few holodramas, but they hold no meaning except a way to see her face." He held up the datacard Jag had given him. "Now, I have new memories. Maybe we can spend some more time together, so I can try to make up for a lifetime's worth."   
  
The interoffice comm chimed. Wedge reached up to activate the speaker. "Antilles here."   
  
"Sir, Colonel Tycho wanted me to remind you that the shuttle for the _Tafanda__Bay_ leaves in fifteen minutes."   
  
Wedge glanced at the chrono and frowned. "That it does."   
  
Jag was already rising. "I will not keep you any longer. I, too, am required at the reception. Despite the Chiss views on political posturing, I was ordered by Admiral Pallaeon to attend. I will do so at his behest."   
  
"I'll head out with you." Wedge motioned toward the door.   
  
Jag led the way out of the office and through the outer reception room. Once in the hall, the two men walked side by side. Wedge spoke first.   
  
"So you must be the hot shot pilot, dogging all the Rogues in the sims, then cutting and running before they can meet you face to face."   
  
"An unknown enemy is one to be feared." Jag recited a line from a famous Chiss tactician.   
  
"Pilot mind games, so like your father. Tell me, do you have any particular suggestions to improve our methods against the Vong."   
  
"I am learning just as you all are. The Rogues are good, but they lack the discipline of the Chiss. It is their one true weakness, in my opinion."   
  
Wedge raised one eyebrow as they turned a corner. "There is a point where too much discipline can stifle ingenuity in a pilot."   
  
"Point taken, but some of your pilot's tendencies make them unpredictable. I know exactly what to expect every time from my pilots."   
  
"Anyone in particular you have noticed?"   
  
Jag took a moment and then spoke. "Yes, I believe she is known as Rogue Eleven or Sticks." Jag did not want to admit he knew her name already. "She has a tendency to play outside the rules and ignore certain standard procedures."   
  
Wedge laughed and then laughed harder. Jag eyed him conspicuously. "Did I say something wrong?"   
  
"No, it just figures Fel's kid would single out Solo's kid of all the pilots."   
  
Wedge was actually surprised to see a look of shock on Jag's face. "You mean she is the daughter of Han Solo and Princess Leia Organa Solo?"   
  
"That would be the one, and a damn good pilot too. I think she has more kills at the age of sixteen than I had by the time I was twenty."   
  
"I suppose her father's nature rubbed off on her as she has obviously not mastered the mannerisms deserving of her royal heritage."   
  
Wedge laughed again. "Oh there's plenty of her mother in her, but if you had to pick one parent she emulated, it would be her dad."   
  
"Father never had much of anything positive to say about Han Solo."   
  
"No, I suppose he wouldn't."   
  
The two men arrived at the entrance to the hangar and stopped to face each other. "I'll take your evaluation of the Rogues under advisement. I don't think there is much I can do on the Jaina Solo front though."   
  
Wedge wrestled his nephew, who was slightly taller, into a hug that was not returned with the same enthusiasm. Wedge let Jag go and stepped back. "I guess I will see you later then."   
  
"Yes, later."   
  
Jag started to step away when Wedge interrupted. "Jag, promise not to leave without letting me get you some things to send home to your mother. You know like a note or some holos.   
  
"I will, sir. I mean Uncle."


	5. The Eyes

This takes place in Chapter 24 during the reception on the _Tafanda__Bay_, which is portrayed in Ruin from Jaina's POV.  This time we see it from Jag's POV.  Hope you enjoy!

**THE EYES**

  
Jag walked toward the dais with a crisp formality to his step, perfected from years of practice at the Academy. Behind him trailed a dozen blue-skinned Chiss, his adopted comrades. He held his wiry frame tall beneath his black uniform adorned with the blood-red stripes running along his pant legs and cuffing his sleeves.   
  
Jag mounted the dais at a sharp step, leaving the Chiss in their white uniforms to file along the front of the platform below him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them snap to attention as they turned to the stage in unison. In that same glance, his eye was drawn to a pair of robed figures heading through the crowd in the direction of the dais. One was a tall man, who would have been stunningly handsome in his black and gray attire if not for the vivid scar running the length of his face.   
  
The second figure was a petite form wrapped in a blue robe. The robe grabbed his attention, igniting a fleeting memory; the face kept it. Framed by brown flowing locks, the face was none other than that of Jaina Solo. In the second Jag had to process the information as she passed out of view, he realized she was wearing the distinctive attire of a Jedi, much like he had observed Master Luke Skywalker and his wife wearing before they, too, had entered the hall.   
  
The discovery that Jaina Solo was a Jedi rocked Jag to the very foundation of his being. The thought had never occurred to him as his mind pondered her over the last couple of hours since meeting his uncle. He was not sure why this truth affected him so. What Jag could not shake was the vivid image of the haunting dream replaying in his mind. _Her eyes reflected the brilliant violet rays emanating from the sword of light grasped in her hand._ Now, Jag had no choice but to see those eyes for himself and thrust this frivolous sidebar from his mind once and for all.   
  
Jag pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he reached Relal Tawron. He bowed sharply before taking his hand. The Ithorian high priest turned to introduce Jag to Borsk Fey'lya, but Jag had already moved, bypassing the Chief of State's Cabinet as well. Chiss society was based on a strict code of honor and truth. Power was earned through strength and actions. The lies and deception inherent in politicians was beneath everything the Chiss stood for, acknowledging their presence would only lower himself to their level.   
  
Jag stopped again at Admiral Kre'fey and executed a stiffly formal bow. The Bothan admiral accepted his proffered hand. Jag continued down the line shaking each hand in turn, starting with Colonel Darklighter, the commander of Rogue Squadron. The New Republic colonel was courteous as he took Jag's hand, but his face revealed confusion over Jag's actions. Jag did not fret over the fact that a _Rebel could not fathom the honor required to live among the Chiss.   
  
Next in line was Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. Jag acknowledged the man for his prowess as a warrior and the honor required to sacrifice so much for the good of others. The Chiss held these values in high esteem. Taking the man's hand, Jag looked into his eyes and was drawn to the undeniable power lying beneath the surface. A Jedi, to the best of Jag's knowledge, relied on a mysterious gift called the Force and should not be taken lightly.  Jag berated himself; he should have anticipated that the daughter of Leia Organa Solo, the sister to this powerful Jedi, would have Force skills as well.  It was a well-known fact that the ability was usually inherited.   
  
Jag moved on to accept the hand of Mara Jade Skywalker, a Jedi Master in her own right, and wife of the Jedi leader. This man and woman were the uncle and aunt of the brown-haired girl standing at the bottom of the dais, who kept dividing his mind's attention. Jag had not expected to see Jaina this evening. She would not have been invited as a pilot. Rogue pilots lacked the discipline to represent the New Republic at such a gathering. Her presence had to be required as a Jedi and dignitary based on her lineage. Now, the surprise left his thoughts wanting for focus. His only desire was to get off the dais and stare straight into her eyes once and for all. Everything else about the evening seemed irrelevant.   
  
Jag ignored the gasps and hubbub that began to rise in the crowd. The noise seemed to strengthen as he bowed to his uncle. Wedge cast him an affectionate grin, which Jag politely returned, before the man enfolded him a hug. Jag stepped back and adjusted his uniform with a sharp tug at the base of the jacket, then continued on down the line. He could not get over his formalities with Admiral Pallaeon fast enough. There was no need to bother with the Imperial Moffs, the whole despicable flock of political vultures, so Jag made haste for the steps leading off the dais.   
  
For once in Jag's life, he had no control over the path his feet chose. There was an urgent question that needed an answer, drawing him like a Ployi moth to a flame. Every step drew him closer to the truth, hidden in the eyes of Jaina Solo. As intent as his focus must have been on her, willing those eyes to look straight at him, Jag nearly lost his step as her brown eyes flashed wide at the sight of him striding her way.   
  
The closer he got, the more he could not shake the truth. His ears buzzed with a white noise that drowned out all other stimuli. His eyes were deceived by the flash of snowflakes that swirled in front of them, increasing in volume with the mounting strength of the drone filling his mind. There was no violet light to reflect off the sparkling brown irises, flecked with a hue as deep as Corellian brandy, but there was no denying that they were indeed the same.   
  
Jag's dream haunted him as flurries of snowflakes crowded his vision, fluttering around Jaina until they blew away in an apparent gust. This time though, the girl in his vision did not disappear with the flakes. She stood true and beautiful before him. The noise faded, and all that was left were two people in a room alone, locked in a silent moment of fate.   
  
Jag drew himself up before her, straight of limb and muscularly taut, then snapped his head and upper body forward in a bow that was not as deep as that given to the others, but was nonetheless respectful. "I am Jagged Fel." He straightened, and she started to blush as his green-eyed gaze raked her over. "A Jedi, too. Fascinating."   
  
Then Jaina blinked her eyes, and the spell over Jag released its hold long enough for him to realize the rashness of his move. Never in his life had Jag done something without considering every conceivable outcome like a move in Chadrapak. That was until today; and then, he had done so twice. Her eyes opened, and Jag was again under the spell of her bewitching stare. "Too?"   
  
_It must be some power Jedi have over those of us without Force skills. I would have hoped to be strong enough to resist_, he thought as he replied. "In addition to being a superior pilot. You are a difficult kill." _There you go you light-haired fool; now she will think you are hitting on her, paying her such a high compliment._   
  
Jaina smiled at him as her eyes sparkled in a dance of liquid fire. "You meant that as a compliment."   
  
_Of course I did. Thank the maker, though, she did not take it as too high a praise. Remember, she does not have the same standards as you do._ Jag nodded. "Among the Chiss, it is high praise indeed. I was only a bit better than you at your age."   
  
Then another voice ripped Jag from the thrall of his enchantment, as it mocked his compliment. "Which was what, about two years ago?"   
  
Jag turned to face the Jedi dressed in black and gray robes. He would have been as handsome as the men in his mother's holodramas, except for the fresh scar running the length of his face. This man, another Jedi, had escorted Jaina Solo here. To Jag's estimation, only a man as handsome as he had been would be worthy of the beauty instilled in the woman before him. The injury was a tragedy, but she must have been kind enough to see past it.   
  
Jag refused to be embarrassed by this man; he almost felt a twinge of envy for the Jedi that obviously captivated Jaina Solo's heart. He wrestled the useless emotion and locked it away behind his steely emotional barriers. "Yes, just before I took command of my squadron."   
  
Jag felt another presence at his side. "Colonel Fel."   
  
"Yes, Uncle?" As Jag turned to face Wedge Antilles, he caught a strange look shared by the male Jedi and Jaina Solo. The fresh feeling of jealousy reared back out of the box he had shoved it into and ignited his soul on fire. What he would have given to be the one she affixed her attention. Jag mused over how one person could exercise complete and utter control over his sensibilities without even trying.  
  
Lost in his thoughts, Jag barely registered his uncle's words. "You should return to the dais and greet those people you bypassed." Wedge nodded toward Borsk Fey'lya and his confederates. "They are fairly important."   
  
_She is the girl I have sought my whole life; that I had searched Csilla high and low for. The dreams had to be a sign. How could I know Jaina so completely without ever laying eyes on her, if it was no less than destiny? Mother had always said there would be a special woman for me and I would know it in my heart when I saw her. Now I finally find her, and fate has played a cruel trick on me._  __She belongs to another.  
  
The spite in his heart took control, and Jag felt a flame of fury erupt. This was not the time or place to lose control of his emotions, so Jag concentrated them on the one thing he could. He shook his head. "They're politicians."   
  
  
_


	6. The Prelude

This vignette corresponds with Chapter 28 of Ruin when Jaina escorts Elegos' shuttle onboard the _Chimaera_.  Jag and Jaina meet up in the pilot's lounge. The dialogue is straight from the book, but I took liberties with Jag's POV.  The book is Jaina's POV.  The last two lines are not in the book, I added them to the end of the scene.  They are my own.  How I envisioned it ending.   
  
This is the last one guys, so enjoy!   
  
  
**THE PRELUDE**

  
Jag halted midway through the door to the pilot's ready room at the unexpected sight before him. Standing with her back to him, staring down into the hangar bay of the _Chimaera_, was the slight form of none other than Jaina Solo; the petite body, comfortably wearing the New Republic orange flightsuit, was unmistakable. He ventured a couple of steps into the room for a better look. As her profile came into view, Jag realized that regardless of the brown hair plastered to her head in a braid from hours under a helmet, there was an undeniable air of beauty surrounding her.   
  
He paused for a moment and pondered the fortune that had brought her to the Remnant Star Destroyer, when his eye caught the sight of the shuttle in the bay. It was covered in strange growths. Around the shuttle, technicians buzzed about, performing any number of scans and tests. There was an obvious tension encompassing the bay and pervading Jaina's aura.   
  
He took a deep breath and braved some words. "What they have done there is unusual."   
  
Jaina turned to face him as he made his way across the room in her direction. She studied him with a strange disdain he was unable to discern. Jaina folded her arms across her chest and looked back to the deck as she replied.   
  
"Pretty much everything the Yuuzhan Vong do is unusual, as far as I'm concerned. They've spent an hour scanning the thing. I can't imagine there is much more they can learn without cracking it open."   
  
Jag thought it odd she had the patience to stand there for an hour and observe the workings of the technicians, but then he realized everything about Jaina Solo seemed to be an enigma. He moved closer, drawn to her like a magnet, despite the peculiarities of the young woman that made her his polar opposite.   
  
"There isn't. That's not what they are doing." He stared at the reflection of her face in the transparisteel window. Perhaps, if he took a close look again, she would not be the same girl he had imagined in his dreams. The closer look, muted in the reflection, made him more certain than ever she was that very specter. "They don't know what is in there, and they're making sure that if it's harmful, they don't get blamed for releasing it."   
  
"You say that as if it's a bad thing to be cautious."   
  
The comment took him by surprise. Nothing about her had ever given him the impression she was ever cautious. On the contrary, from where he stood, she seemed to dash headlong into every situation. He shook his head at her and at the quandary she represented.   
  
"They know they cannot be certain of what is in there. All they can do is reduce uncertainty to statistically insignificant levels. What they are wasting is time. We are at war. There is no absence of risk. There are times when one just has to do what needs to be done to win." _Oh boy, Jagged, you just about summed her up in one mouthful. Perhaps she's not so hard to understand after all._   
  
Jaina turned to look at him, and he was engulfed in the blazing depths of her brown eyes. For a second, he was sure his body had forgotten to breath. "In theory you're only two years older than me, but you're talking like you're old enough to be my dad."   
  
_No, I am expressing in mere words what you seem to do instinctively. She probably is her father's daughter, now that I recall Father's tales of the infamous Han Solo._ He nodded once as he thought. "Forgive me. I was judging you based on your accomplishments, not your age."   
  
She blinked, and her eyes reopened to reveal a well-kindled fire burning in them. Her voice confirmed that he had hit a nerve. "What is that supposed to mean?"   
  
Something about the venom in her words goaded him to rise to the challenge as if his very being was questioned. Jag's eyes hardened as he responded in an equally harsh tone. "You are a Jedi. You are a superior pilot in an elite squadron. The dedication and skill required for these things are well known. I made the mistake of assuming too much about you."   
  
Instead of rising to his challenge, she mysteriously retreated, throwing him off-guard once again. "I'm reading your tracking data, but still don't have a lock on your target."   
  
Jag sighed. He pondered what it was about this woman that could make him want to shake her senseless and take her in his arms in the same breath. For some reason, he wanted her to understand who he was.   
  
"In Chiss society, there is no adolescence. Chiss children mature early and are given adult responsibilities very quickly. Those of us humans living among them were raised as they were raised. Intellectually I knew things were not the same here in the New Republic, but--"   
  
"You think I am a child?" Jaina gave him an icy glare, worthy of a Csilla blizzard. "You think I am soft or something?"   
  
_How is it that you can have the best of intentions and still manage to pique her wrath?_ Jag broke eye contact with her, flustered by his misconstrued intentions. In trying to open up to Jaina, he had embarrassingly blundered his way into insulting her pride. Jag fought the blush he knew was building as he held a hand up in defense, before shaking his head, trying to clear it and regain some semblance of control.   
  
"Not soft, no, not at all. You have determination and courage, but you lack--"   
  
"Lack what?"   
  
He frowned, searching for the word his mother always used when she confronted his father about his demeanor. That quality was what Soontir Fel had instilled in all his children, and his mother sometimes resented the Baron for it. He stared at the shuttle as his usually collected mind struggled to find the word.   
  
"You're not grim."   
  
He could see her mouth pop open in the reflection on the transparisteel. For just a moment he imagined what it would taste like to kiss those lips. Such thoughts swept away as she moved her mouth again to speak, almost seeming for once to lack the confidence she brimmed with usually.   
  
"Um, no, I mean, there are times, yes, but being grim takes such a toll."   
  
"It does at that." For a second, the imagined kiss was replaced by the desire to drag her into his arms as she stumbled over her words and tried to regain her footing.   
  
He pointed a finger toward the two men walking across the deck, thankful for the sudden distraction that halted his insane impulse. They were wearing environment suits, but the clear headgear made them easily recognizable.   
  
"My, ah, uncle…when he hugged me at the reception…We'd met barely an hour before, privately, and he was surprised to learn who I was, but in no time after that…Where I come from, there are men that I have never seen smile before, and here he was, in the midst of a difficult situation, and he was happy to see me. Not because I was an ally, but because I was his sister's son. And he accepted me despite the fact that my mother's departure from the New Republic hurt him deeply."   
  
Jaina reached over unexpectedly and rested a hand on his shoulder. The touch was both of fire and ice. His body warmed under her fingers, while chills ran down to his neck and along his spine.   
  
"Wedge is like that. Most people are. Life is too harsh not to take what pleasure you can find in it, and certainly learning of his sister and how her life has gone would be wonderful to him. No matter how bad things might be, a joke, a smile, a pat on the back help break the tension."   
  
Jag was sure his will would break under the sensation rippling from her touch. He doubled his resolve before he lost himself to the power this woman held over him, a power that frightened him to the depths of his soul. Jag raised his chin and steeled his barriers.   
  
"Among the Chiss, celebration is saved until the job is done."   
  
"Even if it is never-ending?"   
  
"If it isn't ended, the celebration is false."   
  
"No, it's necessary."   
  
Jag was afraid to look at her now. Some of what she said made sense, and that simple fact made her even more alluring than before. Jag was certain he would fall into her eyes if he looked into them again. He knew she was studying him, but he kept his focus forward, only seeing the reflection of who she truly was.   
  
Suddenly she withdrew her hand, and it was instantly missed. The loss of the connection forced him to seek out her face again despite his determination. He unwittingly smiled at the beauty before him, not being able to fight the burning desire for her to like him as a man. It compelled him to explain.   
  
"The Chiss, despite the impression I might have given you, are a thoughtful people. Deliberate, calculating, but not above a flight of fantasy or two. They are not averse to wondering where they would be, had life been different. Whom they would have met, how they would have met, what would have become of them."   
  
"And you mention this because?"   
  
"Because…" He hesitated, then looked out at the deck. "I was wondering what Uncle Wedge would have thought of my older brother."   
  
Jaina smiled and looked out at the deck. "The only problems with those flights of fancy are that life never works as cleanly as we'd like. Sometimes a meeting is just a meeting. Other times it's a prelude."   
  
_What had she just said? Could she possibly see something more between us as well? A prelude to what?_ Jag laughed despite himself, overcome with a momentary giddiness at the thought. "Had I said that, you would have accused me of talking as if I were your father's age again."   
  
"I might well have, but probably not." She stared at him through the reflection of the window, returning to the ethereal state of the girl in his dreams. "The nice thing about being an adolescent is being able to make mature decisions when you need them and being able to just flow along with life when you don't."   
  
Jag absorbed her words and took them to heart. For once in his life, he was going to do what his heart told him and not what his calculating brain determined. Jag stepped to the edge of the precipice he was venturing off and leapt feet first. He turned to gaze upon the loveliness of her profile and froze momentarily when she met his stare.   
  
"Jaina, I am heading down to the mess to have a quick bite to eat. Would you like to join me?"   
  
A smile spread across her face and seared into every fiber of his being. "After the day I had, I would love to."   
  
**********   
  
THE END   
TKL/zr

Look for the sequel – **All Angles – coming soon…**


End file.
